Stare
by argonite
Summary: "He 'stared' too much—of that he is certain. And 'stare' he shall...because she already has him drawn in: hook, punch and sinker." A hopeful-hopeless little story featuring Bertholdt, Annie, and slivers of the 104th in their Trainee Days. One-shot (in two parts).


**Nota:** Finally got around to writing this for a friend, because it's an idea that's been gathering dust in my drafts since forever. My take on writing something a bit more light-hearted. Written in two parts. Apologies, and _enjoy_.

* * *

**STARE**  
annie & bertholdt in two parts  
(trainee days)  
**-  
ein**

* * *

He 'stared' too much—of that he is certain.

Though knowing this does nothing to make the boy drop the habit…neither does he begin to acknowledge the act as _staring_—which is just what his friend insists it is. For the latter, he'll protest that 'staring' implied a dumbstruck kind of vacancy (more empty and less appraisal) leagues different from what he _actually does_. Observing is what he calls it: from acknowledging that there's more meat chunks in the stew than usual, to the fact that the girl from a few tables down slogs through her helping in disinterest.

He traces the pinched curve of her nose with his mind's eye, noting the occasional wrinkle she makes after a spoonful. Her flaxen hair is pinned-up gold under torchlights.

As for the former, he knows it's an awful habit (and a horrible display of table manners), but he's too hopelessly drawn in not to notice the little things that make up Annie Leonhardt; to take it all in like air and water, parsing and stitching one detail after another.

He's a shy moth drawn to pale flames, though that doesn't mean he's less likely to combust from her.

"_Stop selling yourself short. You'll make it back—_we'll _make it back…_"

"Hey."

A nudge to his shoulder brings Bertholdt back to reality—to which he jumps, spoon splashing to his tin bowl and knees slamming up against the table top. The act is raucous enough to send a few eyes darting his way (none of them _hers_)—and he sends them back, sheepishly and apologetically, before giving his friend a look. Thankfully, their peers are just as quick to ignore him as they are to notice him.

Bertholdt notes the splotches of stew on Reiner's shirt (his own just as soiled), along with the stray chunks and drops strewn around their bowls. He runs a hand up to the back of his head, gaze stooped down in embarrassment. "Sorry about that."

"I was supposed to say your soup's getting cold, but nevermind." Reiner gives him a pat on the back. "You're gonna have to wash my shirt, though—_that_, and you better get back to dinner. Your stew's getting lonely, Bert."

"I'm really not that hungry," he supplies, but picks up his spoon nonetheless.

Reiner frowns up at him. "C'mon, you've barely even touched dinner. It'd be bad to let a good meal go to waste. Same goes for keeping it waiting."

He knows Reiner is right about that. Rations have been hard enough to come by since the fall of Maria (regardless of enlistment having them fed them thrice a day), and they probably owe it to everyone not to take each meal for granted. Which is what drives Bertholdt to shovel through with dinner—but not without sending a few (or maybe _more than a few_) stray glances down Annie's direction. Slightly hunched over her food with the bread half-gone.

He'd honestly hit himself if he could, would pry his eyes away from her because he'll be found out at this rate. But he _can't_—and he does an awful lot more observing than he does eating—and Reiner notices.

Bertholdt catches on to his friend's remark. "You know, I bet if you stared at your stew long enough, you could reheat it in minutes."

His words sever Bertholdt's line of sight, and he shoves a lukewarm spoonful into his mouth, mortified. It takes all of his resolve to keep his eyes and thoughts on his meal. "S-shut it!" he all but shouts between chews, praying that the other boy's guffaw wouldn't catch unwanted attention. _Her _attention, really.

"Just messin' with you, Bert!" Reiner laughs, and it's loud and makes Bertholdt feel even more anxious.

The taller boy just groans and says nothing more, going back to finishing his meal. Thankfully (and not so thankfully) he's lost the heart to look at Annie at this point.

"Though, whatever it is that's got you staring so much, you should probably cut back. We've only been here for two weeks—keep this up and you're bound to have your ass handed to you at training…or _worse_."

Once again, Reiner's right—and telling him things he already knows. Bertholdt nods, grateful for his concern, but thoroughly puzzled as to what his friend means by '_worse_'. From there, they eat in silence, during which the timid soldier-in-the-making wonders just how much his friend _really_ knows. In the end he shoves the thought aside (thinking about it makes him even more uneasy), and finishes his bread just as Reiner downs the last of his drink.

Annie's gone by the time they get up to return their bowls to the kitchen. He doesn't know when she left the mess hall, but Bertholdt can only console himself to quell the disappointment he feels when he finds her table empty. After all, he's already looked at her long enough—stubbornly enough to last him a lifetime (and still it _wouldn't_).

That night, he starts conditioning himself to pay less attention to her, for his sake and everyone else's. Though for how long his resolve can plan to keep up, the boy doesn't know.

He just hopes beyond hope that she'll never find him out.

x

_"Would you like to play with us, Annie?"_

_"…My father doesn't want me to."_

They reckon that having braved a year's passage is enough to consider themselves _almost-soldiers_; official members of the 104th Division. Frontier carts in the compound have been few and far between, and by their second summer as trainees, no one stays up to pack belongings into weathered sacks, or gathers homebound messages and well-wishes for relatives tilling the fields.

A year's passage is also enough to grow into almost-soldiers—with broader backs and sterner salutes. Now he sees it in everyone, but among them he's _always_ seen it in her…long before they've stopped playing child-games and enlisted.

There's no denying that Mikasa Ackerman shines brightest in the whole 104th. Even Bertholdt notices this—and even without noticing, it's a reality that everyone just feels without meaning to.

Suffice to say, Mikasa isn't the only one stringed with praises around her neck. Their motley circle is exceptional enough in itself—with or without her in it. Braus has her keen intuition; Springer, his agility. Kirschstein's great with the Maneuver Gear, and is, in Bertholdt's opinion, almost as seamless in its usage as Ackerman. Arlert has admirable intelligence, and along with Renz and Bodt, can still keep up without quite looking it. Jaeger's will-power is inspirational, and is something he looks up to, just as much as Reiner's abilities and teamwork skills. Ymir has guts, and knows how to tread the fine line between discipline and brashness. Bert thinks himself okay—and _Annie_…

Annie has always been a soldier, has always been molded into battle.

Petite and pale-purity; her bones and soul are ablaze when she spars.

And he's but a shy moth—_her shy moth_—who flits around hopelessy. _Captivated_.

She doesn't lag behind when they march through the rain with packs weighed down by stones. She doesn't pay attention (but does) on lecture classes about titan anatomy and battle strategies. She slacks off, but doesn't get caught. She's sick of the dinner staple at the mess hall (gamey-meat and potato stew) but begrudgingly doesn't let any of it go to waste. Sometimes Mina sits with her during meals—and those sometimes turn into frequent happenings. And on rare occasions she'll make Annie smile—and he's only seen it once (closed-lip; reaches her eyes) but once is more than enough for him (and still it _isn't_).

Truth be told, Bertholdt doesn't look at her as much as he used to, but when Annie Leonhardt sends Eren Jaeger and Reiner Braun hurtling, she catches almost half the yard's attention. _His _included—and the majority of eyes trained on her is enough justification to let his gaze linger a little longer. He wasn't the only one watching, after all.

Small hands clenched and curled; shoulders lightly hunched up. Her ice-colored eyes shine with danger. Berthold swears he can almost feel the force of her kick on his leg—the way hers shoots out like a whip to the shin with a _snap_, incapacitating the ragdoll's excuse for a boy that she throws seconds later. It all happens too quickly for him to comprehend.

Scared as he might be, a small part of Bertholdt always admired her ruthlessness—and, despite swearing against it, he remains inevitably drawn in whenever someone challenges her to spar.

x

Bertholdt finds Annie talking with Eren a few nights after. She _smiles_ (for reasons he doesn't want to think about) and Bertholdt's heart doesn't know if it wants to drop or soar.

He finishes dinner early, and leaves Reiner worried—with his mashed potatoes on his plate—as he goes to bed.

He knows it's not jealousy…but more of defeat than anything else.

x

A week from that night, she spars with Jaeger again. Bertholdt's assigned to go through drills with Connie Springer: who's more or less learned that it's not worth it to mess around during hand-to-hand training unless you're begging to have your endurance or your stomach tested.

They're told to practice blocks and punches, and as expected, Annie's stance and methods deviate from the standard procedure. Much to his dismay, Bertholdt finds himself watching again.

_"My father taught me how to bend combat to one's advantage. Normal throws and punches don't always work for everyone…especially for frail girls like me. Combat flexibility will always give you the upper-hand—more than strength and power can give, though I'm not dismissing both as unimportant."_

Connie is battling for his attention, but the taller boy is crouched down and blocking punches wordlessly. He's too engrossed in Annie's movements to focus on what he should be doing. It only serves to irk his partner.

"Berthold, _please_. I'm begging you—Shadis will _kill us_ if you don't start paying attention!"

Eren makes the first move, fist coiled in a strike. Bertholdt watches Annie's philosophy in motion, turning the tides with a deft block—a delicate hand clamped around his wrist. She gives it a harsh twist. Jaeger snarls, and it comes up short when the girl unexpectedly knees him in the stomach, only to send him spinning, face-first into the ground moments after.

"_Bert!_"

He watches beads of sweat rain down her visage from the heat of a mid-summer's day—watches the droplets dance in the air around her before she wipes the back of her hand across a sweat-drenched temple, and pushes her fringe to the back of her ear. He gulps as Connie punches his raised hand.

"Oh screw it, Bert. Screw you!"

There's a smirk on her face when she looks down at Jaeger. She seems to feel eyes on her, because she looks up and almost meets his gaze from a few trainees away. But Bertholdt's quick to turn his head—and when he does, his nose meets Connie's fist with a _crunch_.

"Shit!" is the last thing he hears from Connie before tasting the blood on his mouth. He faints.

After the incident, he's more or less too embarrassed to look at her during hand-to-hand.

Bertholdt Fubar is sure that he'll _never_ live it down.

* * *

**Nota:**  
Part two (zwei) is to follow soon.  
Hope this did both of them justice!

-(ar)gonite


End file.
